


Bippity Boppity Shut up Dave.

by Demon_Cookie101



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave is a memer pass it on, M/M, birthday fic, weenies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:58:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_Cookie101/pseuds/Demon_Cookie101
Summary: Despite the time spent messing with music, Dave still can't hold a tune.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redvaporeon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Redvaporeon).



> This was a birthday fic, that took a while in posting up whoops.

Dave can’t sing.  


You though, considering the amount of time he spends with Dirk pouring over those bloody turntables of his, that he’d at least be able to hold a manageable tune.  


But he can’t. He’s an absolute horrible singer. But there’s also the thing with Dave, is that he simply doesn’t care that he’s a shit singer.  


Like right now.  


He’s belting out the words to some stupid fucking song, head bobbing in time with some unheard beat as he bustles his way around the kitchen, and while you know that your hearing is a damn sight better than any humans, it still doesn’t help when your boyfriend is flouncing his way around the kitchen and belting out words like they’re snowballs and he’s stocked up on ammo.  


(It was fun learning what snowballs are. You still think Dave’s a cheater because he flashsteps behind your impenetrable snow fortress wall to hit you)  


You’re not even sure what it is he’s making at the moment. It’s most likely pancakes because that seems to be the only thing he can actually cook without burning it. He’s got more skill ordering pizza than he does cooking.  


You let your head drop down with a thunk on the table, disrupting Dave’s stupid hollering.  


“You alright there, Karkat?”

“No, I am not, as it appears that my ears have fled my body in an attempt to find solace in an area of this world where they can be free of your horrendous singing.”  


He has the audacity to smirk at you, like he doesn’t have a clue what you’re going on about. “Horrendous singing?  _Horrend-_  aight Karkles I let you force me into a blanket and through one of your lengthily titled bullshitteries of a movie, and you call my singing horrendous?”

“Yes. Yes I do. It’s horrendous. I haven’t heard anything more distressing in my life. The only thing that even dares to come close is that the one time I was stuck in the same room as Nepeta and her caterwauling. Please, cease and desist, Dave.”  


He just smiles at you and turns back to whatever it is he’s doing and if possible (how? How is it possible?) sings even louder.  


You whine and knock your head against the table a few more times, groaning as you fist your hands in your hair and pull. You don’t even know what he’s singing. “Stop! Ah fuck shut up! Jesus fucking Christ how can you be this tone deaf you _mix music for a hobby!_ ” He drops to sit across from you, resting his chin on his hand and grinning in that stupid impish way you’ve seen him do a few times. The way he grins when he’s genuinely getting a kick out of something. Dickhead.  


“I feel like my horns are gonna fall off. I don’t have enough of them to get away with them falling off Dave, why can’t you attempt this shit around someone who has horns worth a damn?”

“Why you gotta diss my singing on my birthday? Ain’t nothing more saccharine than someone singing ‘happy birthday’ to themselves as they bustle around their kitchen in the presence of a loved one.”  


You stare at him incredulously. “What?”

“Happy birthday? Y’know, the song everyone sings awkwardly when the candles are lit on the birthday cake and you gotta wait for them to shut the fuck up so you can get to the good shit. I.e,; cake and presents?”

“Probably, but it definitely doesn’t sound like a cat being strangled.”  


He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, but his eyes, no, his whole face is open and amused. He hasn’t worn his shades since you rocked up at his stupid hive thing with the shoddily wrapped present. You… may have had help picking it out, but when his face brightened that little bit when he unwrapped it, you took all the credit.  


“C’mon Kar-”

“Don’t you start with that too, two name-shortening dickbags is already more than enough thank you.”

“-Kat. Can’t a man sing Happy Birthday to himself on his designated celebratory day of birth? It could be a lot worse.”

“It really couldn’t.”

“I could be putting on the 90’s cd that Dirk got me and sing along to every single track from the late nineties, early two thousands.”

You have no idea what he means, but you’re pretty sure you don’t want to find out. “Look, Dave.” You finally let up from trying to pull your hair out and instead rest your hands on the table. While you were attempting to cause severe pan damage by brute force and solid structures, he had managed to dish out pancakes and bacon.  


You really fucking love bacon.  


You serve yourself up once he gestures for you to, taking a bite before continuing on. “I would rather you rapped the damn stupid song if you had to, but please don’t sing. You can’t sing. You can not sing for shit. My ears are burning, I’m going to die  _again_  through exposure to your horrendous singing if you keep this up.”  


He rolls his eyes, dropping his hands to start on his pancake.

“You know, I never would have expected this criticism from you Karks. I would’ve thought that since, y’know, you’re no stranger to love, you’d know the rules!”

“What rules?”

“The letting your matesprit boyfriend thingymajig sing however the fuck he wants. The point is.” He gestures a lot when he talks, his hands flitting this way and that. Sometimes you wonder if it’s a remnant from Davesprite. You don’t ask, and Dave doesn’t give offer any explanation. He pokes his fork in your direction, “That if our situations were reversed, I wouldn’t give you up like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this! I would never let you down. I wouldn’t run around and desert you simply because my slash your singing was horrible. I wouldn’t make you cry, and I probably won’t tell a lie and hurt you, because let’s be real here Karks, totally not my style.”  


It’s… well, rather sweet of him. You wonder which movie he got these words from, because you’re sure you’ve heard them before.  


He goes back to cutting up his pancakes in a way that makes you think he might have manners. “Now, we’ve known each other for so long, right?”

“Right.” You sound a little sceptical, but you’re sort of still focused on the fact that he’s being weirdly sweet after you basically attempted to chew him out for his shit singing.

“We both know what’s been going on. We know the game, we’re playing it, it’s all good. But then you come in here and criticise my singing and don’t even ask me how I’m feeling? Don’t tell me you’re too blind to see it.”  


Wow are all humans this sentimental on their birthdays or whatever? You wonder if there’s something in the pancakes, because Dave’s acting… well, sweet. Romantic. More so than you would expect him to right now. You just know that your ears are slightly too red as you focus on the bacon.

You know he’s reaching over before you even seen his hand, and you scowl at him as he makes you look up.

“Karkat. I’m never gonna give you up. I’m never gonna let you down. I will never run around and desert you. I won’t ever make you cry, I will never say goodbye. I definitely won’t tell a lie, and hurt you.”

You’re pretty sure that your chest has just melted, and you’re probably making the stupidest expression on your face.  


Too bad that the little flicker to the corner of his lips clues you in.  


You recognise where the words come from now.  


John showed it to you.  


“You little SHIT!” Your screech probably deafened his eardrums, but by the way he’s laughing you don’t think he cares.  


He’s doing that weird gasping silent laugh he does when he’s laughing too hard to form words, curled up on himself and only narrowly missing his plate full of breakfast.  


You’re red down to your shoulders, you can just feel it, and you can’t believe you fell for that.  


He looks up at him, tears in his eyes and a grin as wide as you’ve seen him do on his face. “I can’t believe you fell for that! Did you think it was romantic? I bet you did.” He dissolves into fresh laughter and you flush even harder, hitting him hard on the shoulder.  


“I can’t believe you thought it was romantic.”  


Despite yourself, you can feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips. His laughter is infectious in a way you thought you would never experience.  


“If you don’t shut up I’m going to shove your head up your ass. See how romantic I feel over you then.” He just grins at you and sits back up.  


He doesn’t try and sing loudly again, but you catch him humming that stupid song about an hour later when you’re both curled up on his bed and watching movies.  


You swat him in the chest for it, but he only catches your hand and holds onto it.  


You think you’re justified enough to pick the most obnoxious movie you know, but honestly?  


You don’t think he minds.


End file.
